


Just You and Me

by the_Pop_Culturist



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4596789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Pop_Culturist/pseuds/the_Pop_Culturist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In her life she’s endured so many different types of pain, but longing was one she'd hadn't remotely expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just You and Me

Just You and Me

 

She's no stranger to pain. It's ninety percent mental; a constant belief that's kept her alive all these years, something drilled into her from too early an age. Since then she’d been shot, stabbed, tortured, but she survived it all because she’d been taught to shut off that part of herself that feels. She's a survivor, and yet despite that wealth of knowledge and experience, she hurt now and it pisses her off.

  

She is so angry at herself for letting this happen, but she's more angry with him, with both of them; he and the _other guy_.

 

Just when they were starting to make a connection; just when he was beginning to let her in, he - _they_ decide it was time; time to run, to hide.

 

_“The world saw the Hulk, the real Hulk for the first time. You know I have to leave.”_

_“You assume I have to stay?”_

_“Where in the world am I not a threat?”_

_“You're not a threat to me.”_

 

Ultron was defeated, the world was saved, yet still he ran, not allowing her the chance to cast her spell, to calm the beast, to use her siren song; her lullaby.

 

“ _Hey there, big guy. The sun's gettin' real low.”_

 

It had worked for so long, but not this time.

 

Barton is probably her closest friend, their history together an unbreakable bond, any feelings they might have once shared long left in the past.

 

Yet _he_ might be the one who understands her the most, someone who knows what it's like to have a demon inside, someone who recognizes the journey she must take to make up for past sins. She doesn't transform into a nine foot green skinned behemoth, but she fears the creature inside her just the same.

 

He likes her; she knows it, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. She makes him nervous, and in a playfully cruel way she enjoys that. She likes how his body reacts when she merely brushes by and her fingers skim his. She likes that he's one of the most brilliant minds on the planet but never once makes her feel dumb. Her words mean something to him, they're important to him. He never judges, but offers a sympathetic ear and someone she can talk to honestly. He's not a superhero, the _other guy_ is.

  

She's been reading men like a book for most of her life, taking their weakness and turning it against them. She's made men fall in love with her just to get the information she needs, leaving them begging and broken, sometimes worse. She's used to being the smartest most deadly person in the room. Not just by steps ahead, but yards. She'd been trained to be an assassin; lived and worked in the company of assassins. All she's ever known is the mission, but that's not all she is. She knows that now.

 

_“All my friends are fighters, and here comes this guy, avoiding the fight because he knows he'll win.”_

 

That strength, that power is frightening, it makes her skillset pale in comparison. Most men would give anything to have that kind of ability; he would give everything for someone to take it away, even if it meant his death. Most dismiss that desire as cowardice; she recognizes it for what it is. Noble.

 

_“How long before you trust me?”_

_“It's not you I don't trust.”_

 

He's been hurt so much, not physically as much mentally, emotionally. He drags unfathomable amounts of guilt behind him, and yet he never gives up. He began this journey to help humanity, not to become its greatest nightmare. He knows the consequences, the risks of losing control. He's haunted by that knowledge, but if he doesn't take that chance from time to time even more people could suffer or die by his inaction, New York being a prime example. So he stands with the heroes he admires, gives them the tools to stop him if need be, and prays that this one time that he and the _other guy_ can work together, put their differences aside, to stop the madness, and use their abilities to help - not harm. Just once.

 

She feigns ignorance when they give her the last coordinates of the Quinjet. She knows he'll be nowhere near them. So instead she dives headlong into her work, training a man with robotic wings, a man who can shrink to the size on an insect, androids and witches, things and people that could just as easily live inside the pages of a child's comic book. This is her life, this is her job.

 

The hours are grueling, the training exhausting. She lives for the rush, for the excitement. She finds comfort that every day she gets a little closer to redemption, that there's little less red in her ledger, but in the few quiet moments in-between, she can't stop thinking of him. She misses him, and finally one day she decides she's tired of that pain.

 

Its 05:00 EST when she approaches the hero outside the weight room. Steve Rogers is there every morning like clockwork, he's predictable that way.

 

"I need to take a leave of absence," she says. She doesn’t need his permission, but she likes to let him feel in charge. Men need that sometimes.

 

“Really?"

 

“Really," she confirms.

 

"You never take leave. Can I ask why?"

 

"No."

 

"Can you tell me when you'll be back?"

 

"No."

 

"Can you tell me anything?"

 

She smiles. "I won't be wearing a bikini."

 

He chuckles. "Be careful," he hopes.

 

"I make no promises," she retorts, but the look in his deep blue eyes speaks volumes. He probably knows. She doesn't care.

 

 

 

xxx

 

 

Before she's even considered packing her bags, she’s called in favors from around the globe, from every spook and spy she’s every helped, clandestine players that have eyes everywhere. Against her better judgment she’s placed a secured program inside Shield’s mainframe that searches out little minute details, anything from the **London’s Daily Mail** , to the **Hua Sheng Bao** , or even **The Wabaunsee County Signal-Enterprise** , searching for minor blurbs and blogs for news stories that would fit is M.O. Big enough to warrant a mention, but not enough to raise suspicion. Stark probably knows it's there, but quietly hopes she succeeds. He misses his friend.

 

After a few weeks she begins to lose hope. She didn't expect miracles; like reports of a green behemoth stalking the forests of Canada, but maybe news of a sudden stemming of the tide of an outbreak of something, anything that would give away one of his tells.

 

She sits in her apartment in D.C. closing her laptop and staring out at the Potomac, replaying those words in her head when suddenly lightning strikes.

 

Canada.  

 

_Son of a bitch_

 

xxx

 

 

It's dusk outside in Moosonee, the dazzling lights of the aurora borealis cascading overhead. Her search could have begun anywhere, but she remembered an off handed comment he'd once made; a great uncle on his mother's side, a cabin in Quebec near the Moose River, a happy memory.

 

On the outskirts of town she follows the trail, a hillside cabin, remote, isolated, looking over the river, no homes or living souls for miles other than the black bear, moose, and deer that call that area home.

 

She sees the smoke coming from the chimney, the dim light hidden behind the shades on the windows. Almost anybody could be living in the structure, but the pile of neatly stacked firewood outside gives him away. For such a force of nature, he could be so anal sometimes. The visual makes her smile.

 

She watches for movement for hours, but the temperature is dropping and she's losing feeling in her fingers. It embarrasses her a bit that a child of Russia could succumb to the mild North American elements.

 

She hears a creak of a rocking chair followed by a loud thump as she knocks on the door. She senses a moment of confusion and fear inside that causes her pause. She rehearses the lullaby in her head, just in case.

 

Finally after a few moments, a shade near the door is slowly lifted, and brown eyes peer out into the dusk, a man with a similar look of consternation as he did in India all those years ago. A door is opened and she sees a crackling fire, a leather book, a fortress of solitude.

 

After a few seconds he finally speaks. “Are you here to kill me, Miss Romanoff? Because that's not gonna work out for everyone."

 

She rolls her eyes, remembering that moment in the shed in Calcutta. "Not going to let me live that one down are you Banner?" she sighs. “So are you going to invite me in?"

 

"What if I say no?"

 

Her eyes shine as she smiles. "I'll persuade you."

 

He takes her in, and helps her take of the heavily layered North Face outerwear.

 

"How'd you find me?" he asks.

 

"I never lost you." she lies. No reason to put all her cards on the table.

 

"Can I get you anything? Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

 

"No," she smiles, "Just tired."

 

There is a moment of silence before he has the strength to say it. "I'm sorry.”

 

"I know, but you don't have to run from me...unless that's what you want."

 

"I don't want to hurt you Tasha."

 

"Then give this, give us a chance."

 

He's about to reply when her lips meet his, a palm ghosts his face, an arm wraps around her and pulls her closer. Minutes later they break the kiss, but she places a finger on his lips silencing him.

 

"Don't answer now, just think about it! that's all I ask."

 

Quickly she changes the subject. "So what were you doing?" she asks strolling around the cabin, observing, understanding.

 

"I was just reading." he answers.

 

"What?"

 

"A Tale of Two Cities,” he replies almost embarrassed. She’s teased him about his love of the classics from time to time, but in a world that moves so fast, the slower pace of yesteryear always appeals to him.

 

"That sounds perfect. Will you read it to me?" she asks.

 

His loving smile is his answer. He sits back down on the couch, and she snuggles up next to him, covering herself in a blanket

 

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times," he begins again.

 

"Let’s stick with the best of times shall we," she smiles, his calming voice now becoming her lullaby


End file.
